I take a step back and watch him stumble to the side. “You do. You owe me sixty dollars for the broken glass on my sub. I worked hard for that money.”
He pushes his hair to the side and spits when he speaks. “I’m not giving you that.”
I am not afraid.
“Give me the money or I’m telling them in court.” His mouth hangs open, and a piece of chicken skin clings to his lip. “I talked to a lawyer today. He told me if I press charges, you’ll be in jail for a year.”
He curses at me, his face brilliant red, inches from mine. He lifts his fist, but I stand still, my chest out.
I am not afraid.
“If you do that, it’ll be five years,” I say.
I leave the house and steady myself against the wall. My hands shake beside my legs like fishing lines trembling with life. I take deep gulps of air and close my eyes. I stood up to him. I stood up to my dad. I’ve never done that before. And I lied too. I don’t even know a lawyer.
In the morning, after breakfast with Lydia’s family, Mr. Harris makes arrangements for me to pack up my room while my dad is out on the water. I find sixty dollars on my desk. Betty sits in the kitchen talking with my mother while I sort my life into boxes. Uniforms packed into brown cardboard.
While I’m folding a jumper, my mom walks in and stands in the doorway.
I keep my eyes on the plaid. The fabric is more faded than ever, but I’m sure these will stay packed or be donated. Betty will buy me new uniforms for ninth grade. Sister Bridget won’t be able to yell at me.
“It’s better,” my mom says.
I smooth the dress down against my legs and pick at a piece of lint. “What is?”
“If you live with Betty. She’ll take care of you,” she says quietly in the doorframe.
My stomach wobbles.
She pushes her hair back. “I have something for you.” She holds a small, wrapped box. “For your birthday. I’m sorry it’s late.”
Before I take it, I look at her face. She looks tired. I know she’s been working a lot and setting Dad’s crab pots while he was gone. I put the box in my palm and unwrap the paper. Folded inside white slippery fabric is a little gold medal. I take it out and hold it up gingerly. Joan of Arc. Etched and delicate.
“Thank you.” I can’t remember her ever getting me something like this. The saint holds her sword high.
“I know I’m no Betty, but I think I still know you pretty well.”
I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. What am I supposed to say? I blink and bite my lip. “You could come too, Mom. You could leave him.”
Her shoulders drop. Like they’ve carried so much for so long. And I wait for her to say she’ll come with me.
“It’s not that easy,” she says.
Her hair trails behind her when she leaves.
When I’m all packed, Betty drives me to North Beach, to her trim, one-story rambler with yellow flowers in the front yard. I stand in the driveway and survey my new house. I’m scared. And excited. Will I make new friends? Will I see Kip and Lydia as much?
The inside is clean and efficient with smooth wood floors and sunny windows. My room is white, for now, but Betty lets me pick out blue paint. A dresser matches a twin bed, and a poster of a submarine is pinned to a bulletin board. World War II’s USS Tautog.
“I know it doesn’t look like yours, but that’s what I found online.” She adjusts her glasses. “I’m sorry that’s all there is.”
“Thank you, Betty, for everything.” I could say it every minute for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn’t be enough. I pat the poster. “This sub sank the most enemy ships in World War Two.”
“You know a lot about submarines,” Betty says. She sits on the bed. “How are you feeling about your mom?”
I pull on my ear and shove my hands in my pockets. I don’t know how I feel about her. Does she love me? Wouldn’t she want me to stay with her, then? Wouldn’t she leave my dad if she loved me? It’s almost like we’re strangers.
“I wish she’d leave him.” I wish she had tried harder to go.
Betty pushes against her glasses. “Adults are confusing. We make decisions that maybe we don’t even understand. I think she should leave him too, but it’s not up to us. Your mother’s been in that house for a long time. And change is hard.”
Change is hard. I learned that even though I didn’t want to. But change can also be wonderful.
On Saturday, Kip asks me to meet him at the Cliffs at exactly 11:45. Which is strange. But Alex drops me off close to the entrance, and I follow the shore, my shoes heavy in the soaked sand. I stand beneath the grainy mountains. I might not see them as much now. But I don’t need them like I used to.
“Hey,” Kip says, walking toward me. “Where have you been all my life, Murph?”
“I didn’t see you for one day.” But it feels like it’s been longer, so I move a little closer to him.
“You’re still going to Our Lady, right?” he asks.
“Still going to Our Lady.”
Kip reaches into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Our Lady Starfish on the chest. “I got you something. It’s stupid . . . I wanted to give it to you before your trip, but you had to be an outlaw about that.” He hands me a rabbit foot keychain.
“Oh,” I say. It’s white. I can feel the bones through the fur, which grosses me out.
“Can’t a guy give a girl a dead animal foot? Isn’t it the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you?”
It is.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he laughs and says, “I know it’s a bad present, but my grandpa gave it to me for a Little League game, and we won. So I carry it around for luck.” He looks at it in my hand, then brings his eyes up to mine. “Not that you need luck now. But so you remember your very handsome boyfriend.”
“I will see you every day. Every single day, Kip.”
“So you’re saying I’m your boyfriend?” He can’t grin any bigger. It would be impossible.
“Maybe it’s not you, maybe it’s a different boy.” I am such a liar. But I can’t keep a straight face either.
“Why are you so mean to me?”
I grin and look down at the white puff in my hand. “I carry a Joan card, for luck.” Carried. It’s pinned on the board in my new bedroom now. “Now this.” I pull out the medal my mother gave me for him to see, and he leans in close.
Kip smells like gasoline and laundry detergent, which are probably not normal things to find attractive. But I do.
“I haven’t heard a Joan fact in a long time.” He’s quiet and close. Very close.
I scrunch up my face, and my ears are hot. “She knew she was going to die, but she went on her quest anyway.”
“A lot darker than I expected, Murph.” Kip pulls me to him, and I wrap my arms around his waist. Is it possible to love someone’s bones? If so, I love Kip Dwyer’s bones. I bring my mouth up to his to kiss. We’re better at it this time.
Kip breaks away and puts his face on the top of my head, his lips near my hair. “Always trying to make out, Murph. I swear. Would you please keep your hands off me? We’ve got places to go.”
I roll my eyes, then push away from him. “Where?”
“Ford’s for lunch!”
We walk back to the cottages, holding hands. Every time I peek over at Kip, his entire face winks back at me. “Everyone wants to say good-bye, okay? Even though it’s only a twenty-minute drive to North Beach.”
Good-byes. Instead of dread, I feel grateful.
At Ford’s, two tables are set outside. Light tablecloths flutter in the breeze. Maybe twenty people are here. Lydia’s parents and the Dwyer family. Betty and Alex. They wave to me. Ford and Lydia are placing silverware at white plates. When he spots me, Ford stops and puts his hands on his hips. We haven’t spoken since the launch.
“This is for me?” I ask him.
“It is, even though you almost got me arrested, my dear.” He doesn’t look mad though. He’s sm
iling and talking in his happy voice. “Luckily, I was merely detained for a few hours.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I had to.”
“I suspect you did,” he says. He drops his arms, then wraps them around me. “I’m proud of you. Not for disregarding orders, but for completing your journey and standing up for yourself. It’s been a joy to watch you grow.”
Those words cause my heart to lurch in the nicest way. I hug him tighter. I’m going to miss him when he leaves for Japan in a few days. “Thank you, Ford. For everything.”
“Let’s eat,” he says, patting me on the back. “But tomorrow we need to go pick up your sub. I had my friend pull it up on his property. I told him my protégé made a reckless decision.”
I spot Betty and Alex and bring them over to meet the man who helped me build and pilot a sub. While they talk, I pull away and find Lydia. She’s wearing a flowered dress. I don’t really have to say good-bye to her, but I do need to thank her.
“Thank you for pushing me and for making things beautiful,” I say. “I’m so glad we’re friends again.”
“Best friends.” She squeezes my hand.
Everyone sits, and Kip yells, “Sit next to me, Murph!”
I sit in a folding chair next to him. Without Kip, I wouldn’t have survived science. Or the Murphy house. Or the trip across the Bay. From his left, he takes a tray of stuffed ham sandwiches, puts three on his plate, and passes the rest to me.
While he’s eating, I say, “You made me believe in myself.”
Kip stops chewing and winks at me.
“I told you to stop that winking business,” I say.
Kip swallows and says, “I was eating! It was my only option!”
I smile and pick my own sandwich. I pass the tray along. I fill my plate as macaroni and cheese and cornbread and greens come down the line. All these people were not my family a few months ago, and now they are. All I had to do was let them in.
I start to tear up, and I clear my throat. All these people care about me.
I eat my food and listen to Ford tell the story about the Coast Guard, and Mr. Dwyer joins in. Everyone laughs. My heart swells.
Then it’s time for dessert, and Ford brings out something chocolaty and wonderful, his pants rolled up like the first day I met him.
“To Mary!” he says. “To her voyage! Even though she disregarded orders.” He smiles though.
Everyone looks at me. “Thank you for coming,” I say. “Even though it seems a little silly to celebrate me.”
Lydia shakes her head and laughs. But then everyone is laughing and talking again, and I can eat my cake in peace. The happiest I’ve ever been.
When it’s time to leave, and I’ve hugged everyone good-bye, Betty pushes up her glasses. She’s holding Alex’s hand.
“Are you ready to go home?”
Home. I tip my face up and smile.
“I’m ready.”
Author’s Note
Mary’s home life is partly inspired by my husband’s experience as a social worker. Like Mary, kids are often scared of telling him about the abuse in their homes. They are scared of the unknown. They are scared of foster care. And sometimes, kids want to protect their parents. They love their parents despite everything.
Mary is hesitant to leave her family throughout most of the book because they are all she knows. It is her normal. I expect, to some readers, Mary’s reluctance to tell Mr. Harris about what is happening at home is confusing. It seems so clear-cut, because the social worker only wants to help. But victims of domestic violence don’t always see it this way.
Social workers don’t want to take children away from parents. They want a child to be safe. Sometimes this means at home, and sometimes this means at another, safer home.
If you are experiencing abuse, you have options.
1. Tell a teacher or trusted adult. Teachers, social workers, nurses, doctors, police officers, and other educators are all mandated reporters. That means they are required by law to contact child protective services or child welfare agencies if you are experiencing abuse or neglect. Child protective services must investigate each report. They can make a safety plan with you.
2. You or an adult can call the Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline: 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453).
3. If no one listens or helps, try a different adult. Call again. Don’t give up. Everyone deserves to feel safe.
While I wanted to make the abuse reflect real-life circumstances, this is still a story. Mary makes an unsafe decision to confront her father. Mary followed the right steps earlier by contacting Mr. Harris, but confronting an abuser is not safe. I’m sure Lydia would have tried to talk her out of it.
Submarine and Submersible Resources
Real kids have built amazing submersibles! Mary and Kip build their own remote-controlled submersible, and then a real sub that Mary pilots, from videos on YouTube and Ford’s book. They have a mentor who helps guide the dangerous undertaking. If you are interested in underwater and marine engineering, here are some available resources. Adult supervision is recommended.
SeaPerch is an underwater robotics program partnered with the U.S. Navy. Students in school or out-of-school teams build their own underwater robot and compete nationally. The website Seaperch.org has a list of established chapters, but teachers and mentors can apply for their own team too.
Ford’s book is based on the manual I used for researching Mary Underwater. Manned Submersibles by R. Frank Busby is available online through the Biodiversity Heritage Library. The manual teaches you how to build a submersible and can be accessed at archive.org/details/mannedsubmersibl00busb.
Psubs.org is an online community of amateur sub builders and underwater explorers. Questions are asked and answered on the online forums.
If you are more interested in viewing others build a sub, you can check out the progress of Deep Sea Submarine Pisces VI on Facebook at facebook.com/piscessub. The sub is intended to be used for research and film.
Subnautica and Subnautica: Below Zero are survival video games by Steam. Players can collect submersibles and explore underwater terrain. More information can be found at Subnauticagame.com.
Acknowledgments
Mary Underwater would not exist without John Doleski’s constant support. Thank you for believing I could write a book and get it published. For letting me steal time away from three babies to create. For listening to the same chapter over and over again. And for lifting me up when I floundered in rejection. This book is half your heart.
To my three babies, June, Teddy, and Dwyer, without you, I wouldn’t have wanted to share my words. You give me a voice and a direction that I was severely lacking before you came into this world.
I am forever grateful to my agent, Veronica Park, for championing Mary Murphy in every iteration of her story. I knew we were kindred spirits when you called her a grumpy Anne Shirley.
To my editor at Amulet, Erica Finkel, thank you for seeing what this book could be. You are brilliant and insightful, and I will always be in shock that this is real. You really bought my Chesapeake Bay book and made it gleam like the inside of an oyster shell.
Many thanks to the rest of the team at Amulet and Abrams, especially Hana Anouk Nakamura, Amy Vreeland, Jenn Jimenez, Andrew Smith, Jody Mosley, Melanie Chang, Jenny Choy, Patricia McNamara O’Neill, Elisa Gonzalez, Michael Jacobs, Emily Daluga, and Sara Sproull. Your hard work is wholly appreciated.
When I told my friends on Facebook that I planned on writing a book during Lent 2015 (Mary would approve), so many people encouraged me. To you all, you have no idea how much I needed those words. And special thanks to Jon VanDeventer and Stephen Balinski for answering STEM and submarine and Chesapeake Bay questions.
To Andrea Janes and Dr. Rita Pollard, the first to read my words, I am grateful for your kindness and encouragement.
To my critique partner, Amanda Fazzio, you have been a great friend and confidante during this publishing journey, and I am so g
lad we’ve shared it together. Jaye Robin Brown, thank you for your guidance and friendship. Mary is better because of both of you. Also, all of my fiery retreat friends, I am lucky to have you. Jen Malone, your mentorship has been so wonderful.
To my fellow 2020 debuts, especially the most parched, I am so lucky to share this experience with you. Prerna Pickett and Jenny Elder Moke, aren’t I lucky to have met you?
The Weaver family, thank you for inviting us to dinner on the Bay. For planting the seed for this story. And for your early reading. No, you could not swim across the Bay, Tom, unless you trained.
My Joan of Arc research started when I was a middle schooler, but for Mary Underwater, Joan of Arc, a DK biography by Kathleen Kudlinski, was instrumental.
John Mayer, your song “Walt Grace’s Submarine Test, January 1967” sparked this book when I was homesick for Maryland. To my former students and swimmers, who inspired Mary and Kip, I am so happy I was your teacher in that special place on the Bay.
And finally, I started writing stories when I was a little human. Lois and Steve Young are to blame. Thank you for letting me daydream. And for letting me believe I could be Joan of Arc. To my brother, Nate, and my sister-in-law, Catalina, I will talk about storytelling all night long with you.
And to my readers, I hope you know you are worthy. You are worthy just like Mary.
About the Author
Shannon Doleski was born and raised in Cazenovia, New York. After graduating from Niagara University with a degree in English education, Shannon was a high school and middle school teacher and swim coach in New York and Maryland. She lives in West Texas with her husband, three children, and beagle. Mary Underwater is her debut novel. Visit her author website at shannondoleski.com.
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